


Hypnopompic

by Basingstoke



Category: Lost Boys (1987)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-23
Updated: 2009-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-05 03:07:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/37154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Basingstoke/pseuds/Basingstoke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>David... won. In a way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hypnopompic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spoke](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spoke/gifts).



"Fuck you! Fuck YOU!" the boys on the beach yell. Bottles smash.

Michael drowses amid the pile of blankets and scarves. Filmy cotton blows past his face.

"Michael, it's time," David says. He tugs on Michael's boot.

Michael ignores him and sleeps. He doesn't want to listen to David... he wants to sleep, forever.

He dreams.

He's an accountant. He takes a quiet pride on payday. Not for his own paycheck, but for everyone else's. Look how tidy the sums are. Look how perfect the numbers are. It all adds up.

"MICHAEL," David says.

Michael turns over. He works at McDonald's. He turns out perfect fries. Golden brown. Delicious. Om nom nom, the kids say. Om nom nom.

"Michael," David says.

He does pricing at Sears. Signage. Perfect black and white. Perfect discounts. Clean, tidy, neat.

"Michael!" David says.

Unwillingly, he dreams of Sam. Michael, Sam says. Michael, no.

He hisses and pulls the pillow over his head. "You're awake, Michael," David says.

No, he's sleeping. He's a dog groomer. He's a competitive dog groomer, turning a poodle into a teenage mutant ninja turtle. He's combing a poodle. It's quiet. It's nice. "Michael, no, don't do it," the poodle says.

His dreams twist. They always do. "Michael," David says, his hands on Michael's face. But as long as Michael keeps his eyes closed, he's still asleep.

"Taste," David says, and he opens Michael's mouth with both hands. His thumbs are snakes. He slithers down Michael's throat.

"Muh... no..." a boy murmurs. Michael is dreaming of a castle, standing in a maze of tapestries, beating his body against thick wool. He raises his head and a warm rain falls.

Warm, thick rain. Blood. Oh, delicious. Warm rain in the desert, hot river flowing into the sea.

He dreams he's in armor, gold, bright like urine. No--bright like his mother's wedding ring. No. Bright like David's eyes.

No.

It's all wrong.

Michael breathes out, smelling blood, smelling shit and urine, smelling death. Decay. He dreams he's buried in the graveyard next to his grandfather, his mother, his brother, their dog. He oozes through the earth. He finds his mother and lays his head on her lap. Mother, I have so many problems. Mother, help me.

She pets his head with her bony fingers. Yes, Michael, let me help you.

Mother, I fell in with the wrong crowd. Mother, I've gone astray.

Oh Michael, my baby, she says. Michael, just say no.

Oh yes mother. Just say no.

Yes, baby, it's that simple, she says. Her bony fingers pet furrows into his dead cheek. His flesh peels back from his bones.

No, Michael says. No.

He is dreaming. He is working at the video store. VHS is out. DVD is in. Blu-Ray, David says. He is current. He is of the now. Michael feels himself dropping behind. Michael is dreaming. In his dream, it's always 1987, and he doesn't know what these words mean.

He's dissolving. He's the wind, the rock, the water. He smashes against himself. He is carried away in his breezes. He flies.

"Michael," David says. "Wake up."

He won't. He refuses.

"It's 2012. They think it's the apocalypse. Let's make it true," David says.

In his dream, he swings a boy like a golf club, smashing his brains across the rock. David sucks up the gray matter like tapioca pudding. Michael bites into the femoral artery and drains the sputtering life out of a boy. But this is a dream.

In his dream, he is a librarian. He patches a book carefully. The Life and Habits of the Vampire by Edgar and Allen Frog. He looks up; the authors are there, ready to sign their work. They are both dead and gray and falling apart. Edgar signs and his fingernail stays behind. Alan starts to speak and his jaw falls off.

"MICHAEL!" David yells sharply. "What are you doing?"

Dreaming, Michael doesn't say.

"MICHAEL!"

Michael dreams.

"MICHAEL!"

He is underwater. He is a fish. He is swimming, breathing in water. He laughs, exhaling his last breath in bubbles.

Then he floats.

"Michael," David says.

He's irritated. He doesn't want to hear his name any more.

Then David bites him. Pain, sharp, bone, blood, he strikes out; he wrestles with David; they fall. They smash on the rocks.

David hisses. "I despise you," he says. "But you have to live or I'm not a master vampire."

You suck, Michael says in his dream.

David hits him. Bone splinters. Michael dreams of bruises and old, spattered blood clots in the sand. He doesn't bleed, he oozes.

"Look at me! LOOK AT ME!"

Michael spits, turns over, and sleeps.

"I loathe you," David says.

the end.


End file.
